


An Honor Worth Receiving

by iezzern



Series: Nikandros getting railed by older men [2]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, First Time, Implied/Referenced Drug-Induced Sex, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28382907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iezzern/pseuds/iezzern
Summary: As Nikandros muses over his rise in honour, the King takes note of him, and approaches him with an offer.
Relationships: Nikandros/Theomedes (Captive Prince)
Series: Nikandros getting railed by older men [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078784
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	An Honor Worth Receiving

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I don't even know either. It's hot.

Nikandros could only sigh fondly after his prince. His friend. His Damianos.

He’s hurrying down the path of the Gardens, following the enticing back of a slave. Nikandros himself had declined when Damen had asked if he wanted to join in. Bedding a slave wasn’t exactly what he had on his mind today. And Damen would want it privately, too, just old enough to experience the joy of a coupling.

Nikandros lets his eyes drift over the Gardens, fingers clutching at the marble bench he’s perched himself on. A gust of wind brushes his long, brown curls over his shoulder, and he shivers with the light cold breeze. Damen had dragged him into his bed last night, just to rest, and he’s still slightly sleep-warm with it. Nikandros had been too tired to ride back home.

A letter had come for him the previous morn—from the Kingsmeet. He was to go into service there next season. The King had been impressed enough with him. His father had flushed with pride when Nikandros had read him the letter. His older brothers had both clutched his shoulder with beaming smiles. Damen had smiled and laughed with reckless joy, kissing his cheeks.

It feels like a promise of something more. A promise of rise in position. In importance. Not to mention the honour that comes with just serving at the Kingsmeet at all. Just flush of his seventeenth year, and filled with the appropriate arrogance, Nikandros has risen far above every expectation set to him—and has ambitions to rise further.

He’s going to make his father even prouder. Bring even more honour to his name. Being Damen’s most trusted had already brought him a great deal of that, but Nikandros craves more. He won’t stop until his father is overcome with it.

A man sits down beside Nikandros, pulling him out of his musings. Nikandros shifts his gaze to greet him, and startles into a kneel when he sees who it is. “Exalted,” he stutters out, cheeks warming. His hand has come to rest on the bench, beside Theomedes-Exalted’s strong thigh. Nikandros flushes hot and lowers his eyes from the muscle again; down on the marble of the pathway. He can only hope Theomedes-Exalted won’t notice the indiscretion.

A deep rumble sounds from above him. Nikandros realizes with only slight shock that the King is laughing. “Rise, Nikandros,” he says, voice deep and scratched, “And sit beside me like a man.”

Nikandros does as the King has bid him, and sits down by him. A longer distance away than had been previously, because he can’t even think of sitting that close to his King again. His hands come to rest in his lap, fisted. His eyes are downturned. He feels like he’s in the bloom of his youth again. Fumbling and coltish—still learning how to act like a man. The King has never addressed him this personally before.

“Where is my son?” the King asks, stretching out his legs. If Nikandros only shifts his eyes slightly, he’ll find the very enticing display of the King’s thighs covered in dark, coarse hair—just visible under the slit in his chiton. Nikandros can’t help himself.

“He’s…otherwise occupied, Exalted,” Nikandros answers, flinching at his own tone. Theomedes-Exalted rumbles out that laugh again.

“Of course he is.”

Nikandros doesn’t know what to do with that remark, so he keeps quiet. A flustered blush is still resting high on his cheekbones, and his heart is beating wildly. His father was close with the King, one of the reasons Damen and Nikandros had been introduced as children, and Nikandros had heard many stories of him growing up. Of his prowess in battle and his strength in the arena. To sit next to him on a bench in the gardens is nearly unreal.

“Congratulations are in order, I presume,” Theomedes-Exalted says, and clasps Nikandros’ shoulder tightly. It burns him like a brand. His King is to be knelt for, and now the King sits here with a hand on Nikandros’ shoulder like an old friend.

“I—Thank you, Exalted, for the honour,” Nikandros manages to answer, with all the grace of a foal just learning to walk, “I will uphold it in your service.”

Theomedes-Exalted’s deep rumble is back and now, with his hand on his shoulder, Nikandros can feel it more than hear it. Nikandros nearly stops breathing, terrified he’s made a mistake. His eyes are still downturned, so he can’t see Theomedes-Exalted’s expression.

“Oh, don’t be scared, Nikandros—” the King sounds amused “—You will do great in my service, I know. Only, try not to use words too big for yourself.”

Nikandros’ skin burns warm at the reprimand, and he can only give a nod. He twists his hands together before dropping them on either side of himself, unsure of how to continue the conversation.

Theomedes-Exalted seems to take notice. He’s tenser now, somehow, seems more aware of Nikandros’ every little move. As if he sees them in a new light. Nikandros hates the feeling.

Theomedes-Exalted lets his hand fall from Nikandros’ shoulder to his thigh, and then he lets it stay there. Nikandros feels a stab of something strange in his chest and tries not to show it. This kind of attention is new. Not just from the King, but from anyone. The King’s hand slides to the inside of his thigh, grips it. Nikandros’ breath hitches.

“Tell me, Nikandros,” Theomedes-Exalted asks, voice pitched low, “Have you been with a man before?”

Nikandros is lost in the words for a moment. Finds himself scrambling for thoughts. To not only be asked that—but by the King himself no less. There can only be a few reasons why he’s asking this question, and Nikandros feels his stomach swoop at the options. He swallows, and slowly shakes his head. “No, Exalted,” he says. He’s only had female slaves.

Theomedes-Exalted hums at that and tugs at Nikandros’ thigh. Nikandros, without a second thought, splays his legs wide, leaving free access to his King. Theomedes-Exalted lets his hand stray further up with an appreciative sound, brushing against Nikandros’ sensitive skin. Nikandros’ eyes follow the movement and only then does he catch sight of his own arousal. He bites his lip.

They’re in the King’s private Gardens, correct, but it’s still in public. The chance of discovery is minimal, but still that small illicit feeling of doing something highly inappropriate gnaws in Nikandros’ stomach.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” the King says, “Giving me the honours.”

Nikandros’ body jerks at the thought, at his words, at the fact that the King wants him in his bed. He wonders where this falls into his quest for honour and recognition. Where this falls into his relationship with Damen. Why the King would even want him there.

The King shifts Nikandros’ leg over his and puts both his hands on him, one shifting under his chiton to play in the ridge of his hipbone.

“ _Yes_ ,” Nikandros gasps, “Yes, please, Exalted.”

Theomedes-Exalted gives a pleased hum and then yanks Nikandros up from the bench in a rough movement. Nikandros nearly goes dizzy with it and, without thinking, he reaches out to steady himself on the King’s arm. “To my chambers, then, Nikandros,” Theomedes-Exalted murmurs in his ear. Nikandros’ legs have never been more weak.

-:-

Nikandros has never seen the King’s chambers before; they’re in private quarters. They are, like all Akielon quarters, minimalistic in their decoration, which only accentuates the few decorations there are. A simple tapestry with a line of poetry on it. A low sofa in red silk. The sword carried by Akileos’ first king, rested on the wall above the King’s wide bed.

Nikandros blushes at the sight of it. He has no doubt of where his back is going to rest however long Theomedes-Exalted wants to keep him here. His mouth goes dry.

A slave rises from where they were tending a dying fire, quietly exiting the room without any instruction. Nikandros can see, by the various bottles and phials on a tray before the bed, that there are no preparations to make. The King can take his conquest directly to bed. It’s almost as if the King has—no, Nikandros refuses the thought that this was planned. He can’t think of the King as someone _wanting_ him. As someone hunting him out just for this reason.

Theomedes-Exalted’s hands come to rest on his hips, urges him forward. Nikandros follows the silent order with breathlessness, fingers scrambling at the hem of his own chiton. Tension builds in his body as he nears the bed, and he nearly shakes with it. He doesn’t, though, because his father has taught him better than that.

He is stopped just before the bed and now he can make out the different silks and sheets thrown on it. It’s almost nauseating, thinking of being sprawled over them in a few minutes. Theomedes-Exalted’s hand comes to rest on Nikandros’ shoulder and, with a swift move, his chiton is undone, pooling at his feet.

Theomedes-Exalted exhales with appreciation. His fingers go down to brush over Nikandros’ buttocks, and then he squeezes. Nikandros yelps, muscles drawing tight. He hadn’t anticipated that. Theomedes-Exalted rumbles with laughter behind him and Nikandros can’t help his blush growing brighter.

He feels like a virgin again, just having tumbled his first slave in the sheets and shy with the experience. He’d gotten someone who knew what they were doing. Who knew how to tease every last reaction out of him. He’d fumbled along, sometimes laughing at his own inexperience. He doesn’t dare laugh now, but still feels that inexperience weigh on him like a sword in his hand.

“Exalted?” he questions quietly, not daring to say anything else. Theomedes draws closer, breathes against Nikandros’ neck. It sends the hairs over his body standing. He tips his head to the side, exposing his neck for Theomedes to take. A sure finger runs down it.

Then the King’s hands are on his hips, and he’s being turned around. He’s almost a full head shorter than the King yet, so all his eyes meet is Theomedes-Exalted’s muscled chest. His breath catches in his throat. The King rubs his thumbs in circles and Nikandros has faint memories of himself doing the same to one of his slaves.

The King walks him backwards and Nikandros feels the soft material of his chiton brush against his thighs on occasion. Reminds him just how unclothed he is in the King’s chambers. Theomedes-Exalted makes him sit on the edge of the bed and now Nikandros is in a far more compromising position.

Theomedes-Exalted’s chiton is tied at the waist. The King guides Nikandros’ hands there, and waits. Nikandros grows hot when he realizes no order will come, only expectation. He unties it, fingers fumbling. Theomedes-Exalted’s hand comes to rest on top of his head, playing with his hair.

The chiton falls away without any resistance. Flutters to the floor, in a quiet whirl of wind. Nikandros doesn’t know whether to avert his eyes or not. His position—the King’s position—demands Nikandros to show respect and look away at such a display. His own want—the King’s want—is for Nikandros to keep his eyes on the King’s filling hardness.

It’s thick, heavily resting against Theomedes-Exalted’s thigh. There’s a vein running along the underside, and it’s slowly taking on a deep red colour. Nikandros breathes out and the King makes a sound. Nikandros realizes his breath must’ve passed over the King’s manhood.

“Do you know how to suck, boy?” he asks. Nikandros’ heart jumps. “No,” he mutters, not sure if the King will be pleased by the admittance or not. Theomedes-Exalted hums and runs his fingers along Nikandros’ cheekbone. “Then you will learn today,” he says and tugs on Nikandros’ curls. Nikandros goes willingly, without thought.

His lips touch to the tip of it and it’s a strange sensation. Strange taste and scent. Still, he always aims to please, and so he swipes his tongue up in a lick. Theomedes-Exalted makes an approving sound and so Nikandros continues. Gets as brave as to wrap his lips around the tip. His hands are fisted in his lap.

The King guides him through movements, tells him when to apply his tongue and when to properly suck. Nikandros lets himself drift in the instructions, tries to make it feel more like orders from a captain to his soldier, as to not sink into the feeling of being treated like a slave. It doesn’t help.

Nikandros gets halfway down the King’s thickness before he gags. Theomedes-Exalted slowly and softly pulls him back, to let him gasp for more air, and pets his hair while he does. Nikandros nearly hates the feeling, and still can’t help but preen at his affection. It feels oddly relieving to gain the King’s approval.

Theomedes-Exalted pulls him back in and Nikandros can do nothing but stretch his mouth wide and take it. Luckily, the King appears to like a little bit of teeth.

After, Nikandros is pushed back down on the bed and the King comes to kneel over him. Nikandros hadn’t even been able to bring him to satisfaction. He, himself, is panting and warm-faced, lips spit-slicked.

Theomedes-Exalted reaches behind himself and pulls a rose-tinted phial onto the sheets. He puts one hand under Nikandros’ thigh and slides one of his legs up and out. Nikandros feels his spine tensing, back going rigid. “Easy, there,” Theomedes-Exalted murmurs, rubbing his thumb back and forth. Nikandros releases a shaky breath and tries to follow orders, but his mind can’t stop being circled by the thought that the King is going to be his first man—and Nikandros may disappoint him.

There’s a sound of the phial being opened and the slick sound of oil fills Nikandros’ ears. Theomedes-Exalted slides a slippery finger against Nikandros’ taint, making small rolling-actions along it.

“Lay back and think of my son if it makes it easier for you.”

Nikandros loses all air he has in his lungs and can’t help the truly embarrassing sound his throat makes. He has to close his eyes. Damen should not be in his mind during this. The King had always been such a pure imagine in his thoughts—a wise man with dignity and grace. For him to say such a thing…

Theomedes-Exalted slips the tip of a finger inside, letting it rest still there. It doesn’t get harder to get air in his lungs, but Nikandros’ breath is definitely _heavier_ now. Thicker to draw in, filling his throat more. He splays his thighs wider, remembering what he always told his slaves to do to make it easier for them. His cheeks warm at it.

Theomedes-Exalted hums appreciatively and lets his unoccupied hand rest against the inside of one of his thighs. It’s callous and rough, implying years of handling weapons. He’s gripping onto Nikandros so very softly now, like he’s calming a frightened foal.

Theomedes-Exalted then pushes his finger in deeper, dragging a keen from Nikandros’ lips. He chuckles—a deep rumble. “Sweet,” he mutters. Nikandros’ eyes flutter shut, with a sigh.

The King moves his finger slowly, tugging and exploring. Nikandros has to take subtle, deep breaths to keep from making desperate sounds at each motion. It sends sparks up his spine and further down to his bones. Warmth ebbs from the spread. Nikandros bites his lip and turns his head to rub his cheek against the sheet. It’s a soft cold against raging heat.

Nikandros opens his eyes and finds himself meeting the King’s, staring intently at him. A second finger rubs against Nikandros’ hole, and his body jerks without really meaning to. Theomedes-Exalted shushes him and grips his thigh harder. “You’re doing well, boy,” he mutters, voice having dropped a few octaves. Nikandros feels it vibrate deep in his bones.

The praise turns his muscles supple—willing. He sinks deeper into the sheets, feeling comfortable there for the first today. He spreads his hands in them—gripping onto them. He twists his body comfortably, a lot more confident than before. Theomedes-Exalted chuckles but doesn’t berate Nikandros for it, so he assumes it is not too insulting.

“Exalted,” he mutters when the King slips in the second finger in. Theomedes-Exalted sighs out a heavy breath. “Repeat,” he says, scraping his fingertips against Nikandros’ insides. Nikandros licks his lips. “Exalted,” he gasps again and tilts his head back to display his throat.

Theomedes-Exalted hurriedly moves his free hand from Nikandros’ thigh to his throat. He rests it there; he’s not applying pressure, but Nikandros feels it like lead on his throat. The King curls his fingers and grins at Nikandros lifting his hips off the mattress to chase the sensation. “Sweet, sweet boy,” he comments and presses yet another finger to Nikandros’ entrance.

Nikandros squirms, letting out small mewls in-between laboured breaths. He slowly lowers his hips down on the sheets again, letting his thighs rest. They can lay wide without strain or order now. Nikandros finds he likes it this way. It’s intriguing.

The King moves his hand down to Nikandros’ chest, but leaves a pressure on his throat. Theomedes-Exalted plays his fingers across Nikandros’ chest, down and up the valleys of his muscles and slipping over his pebbling nipples. Nikandros jerks violently, not expecting both his own and the Exalted’s actions.

He hasn’t felt this before. Hadn’t even thought to try it. He bites his lips and fists the sheets by his head. The King presses that last finger inside, bending over Nikandros to brush his lips against the younger man’s forehead. Nikandros takes the chance to shift his grip from the sheets to encircle Theomedes-Exalted’s shoulders.

He buries every embarrassing sound in the crook of the King’s neck. Theomedes-Exalted’s fingers splay wide inside him, tugging and testing. Nikandros lets it indulge him; take him and drift him away from his body into a current of pleasure and content. He doesn’t know how long he drifts there, only that when the King leans up again cold rushes against his chest.

“I think you’re ready for it, boy,” the King decides and pulls his fingers out with a stuttering sigh from Nikandros. He returns his comforting rub against Nikandros’ thigh, and tugs his hips in proper position. Nikandros takes a deep breath.

He feels the King’s hardness brushing against his behind, and then pressure against his entrance. Nikandros grips as tight as he can onto the sheets and can’t stop the whine he lets out when the King finally penetrates him.

Theomedes-Exalted stops Nikandros’ hips jerking by gripping them tightly, keeping Nikandros exactly where he wants him. Nikandros won’t admit it later, but he likes letting go of this control. Give away his responsibility of his own body to someone else and let them move him however they want.

Especially when that man is his King.

The King sinks in deeper and deeper until he’s pressed flush against Nikandros, his length warm and pressuring inside him. It’s unyielding; he can feel himself tighten up around Theomedes-Exalted. _Virgin-tight_ —Nikandros has heard his father’s soldier describe slaves as sometimes. Apparently, it’s an amazing thing to fuck someone like that. He can imagine that’s how he feels like right now. Virgin-tight.

The King grabs his hips tightly, pulling slowly out before slamming himself inside again, roughly. It jolts a high-pitched moan from Nikandros, and he’s left open-mouthed and red-faced—staring up at the King. The man looks amused.

He repeats the movement, and lines of pleasure run up Nikandros’ spine. He mewls loudly, panting. Theomedes-Exalted does it again and again, slamming his hips against Nikandros’. It is such a strange sensation and yet something that feels so sure and so familiar. He is doing nothing more than serving his king, as he always and properly should.

It makes it easier to accept—laying here with spread thighs and the King between them. Theomedes-Exalted lets out an appreciative groan and shifts his grip to wrap around Nikandros’ thighs, holding him still and proper.

Nikandros is clutching the sheets, digging his nails into his palms through them. There’s a feeling—like all his muscles growing taunt—in his stomach, similar to when he spills. But he’s nowhere near that point now, and still that tightness is settling in his body. He realizes he enjoys the feeling. Very much.

Theomedes-Exalted’s eyes don’t stray from Nikandros’ body, keeping keen attention on every twitch and squirm. Nikandros wants to hide away and show off at the same time. Shame is rooted deep in his bones at displaying himself this way, but euphoria does a good job of rushing it all away.

The King’s movements quicken, jolting Nikandros against the sheets. The King’s grip on him is the only thing that keeps him from sliding up the bed. Theomedes-Exalted’s breath is heavy now, deep groans slipping out in quick succession. He leans a little bit more over Nikandros, shifting to get his knees up on the mattress.

The new position gets him more leverage—a leverage Nikandros enjoys. His hips are hitched up to rest upon Theomedes-Exalted’s thighs and the width of his waist spreads Nikandros’ thighs even wider.

It makes everything _more_. More sensitive. More desperate.

Nikandros feels pressure, tension, rising inside him, carrying him off towards the edge. The King does not do anything to slow it down. He’s chasing his own pleasure, hands gripping tightly into Nikandros’ slippery thighs.

Nikandros can’t tear his eyes away from the King, the way his hips move and the way his muscles shift. He reaches out a hand to touch before he can remember his place. The King’s strong, rippling muscles are warm under his fingers.

The King huffs in amusement.

He reaches a hand down to mimic Nikandros’ touch. It makes Nikandros arch off the bed, pleasure mounting helplessly in a rush. He spills, without touch or willingness. White noise rings in his ears, and he can do nothing but close his eyes and open his mouth in a silent groan. By the King’s pleased hum, he makes a good image.

“That’s it, boy,” he drawls, “Such a sweet for me.”

His hips hit harder and messier until he finally spills inside Nikandros, warm and heavy. His posture finally crumbles, and he leans over Nikandros, a hand beside the younger’s head. He radiates warmth, wrapping around Nikandros.

His body goes slack, splaying over the sheets. He’s shivering slightly.

Theomedes-Exalted slides his hand under Nikandros’ head and lowers his forehead to the line of Nikandros’ throat. He breathes in deeply. Nikandros hasn’t turned his body stiff, but takes care to lay very still. Warm air brushes over his skin.

The King shifts—pushes Nikandros further up the bed. He reaches out somewhere and then returns with a bottle. He presses it to Nikandros’ lips. Nikandros doesn’t question or doubt when he swallows it down. It burns in his throat. He doesn’t recognize the taste, nor the texture of it. The King strokes a finger down his cheek, pulls himself out, and turns Nikandros over in his stomach. He can feel the King kneel over his thighs; still hard,

_Chalis_ , Nikandros’ mind supplies. He’s only heard of it, some of his father’s soldiers whispering about it in the baths when they thought he wasn’t listening. The King must’ve taken it earlier. Nikandros just swallowed it down. He releases a shaky breath as the King slides his hands up his thighs.

“Prepare to be here for a while, boy,” Theomedes-Exalted says, as he again guides himself inside Nikandros. This time, Nikandros can do nothing but let out an open-mouthed whine and clutch the sheets.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this is definitely why Nikandros likes being railed by older men...
> 
> TY for reading. I'd like it if you left a comment and kudos!


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